I'm Not The One
by maydei
Summary: Claire doesn't see that he's not that man anymore. He doesn't want to hurt her, but she doesn't seem to return that courtesy.  Post "Brave New World".  First installment of my Not-A-Songfic Project.
1. Part Un

**This. This was not intended, among many things. And then it kept going, and I ended up having to cut it off, just like I did with Enchanted, because I honestly just don't want to write it anymore. So here it is, in all its angsty glory, featuring almost-hooker!Claire and broody!Gabriel-Sylar.**

**Oh, and a warning for plentiful swearing, drugs and alcohol. And I promise that I'm not a smoker. I would die from bronchitis if I was. I just grew up in fun places, and I know my stuff.**

**I have massive writer's block again for Lie To Me, and when that happens, I start in on my projects. I have an entire iPod playlist of songs I want to write oneshots from (not songfics, but little theme-based ficlets like this one). **

**This is based off "I'm Not The One" by 3Oh!3. Take a look through, and find all the little song-based easter eggs, if you feel so inclined. Otherwise, read and enjoy!

* * *

**

She was just so _young._

Even at twenty-two, sitting on Peter's other side with a drink in her hand, she didn't look more than sixteen. For all the maturity she claimed to have, Claire Bennet still seemed very much like a petulant teenager, at times.

Gabriel frowned into his glass, taking a long, slow drink.

Peter, of course, was charmed by her. She was his niece and she looked up to him, and he reveled in her attentions that sometimes bordered on the inappropriate. Gabriel noticed every time the girl would lay her hand on Peter's arm or shoulder, every time she would playfully take a jab at his ribs when he annoyed her.

As a Petrelli, Peter thought nothing of it.

Gabriel knew better.

She had shown up out of the blue just a few weeks ago, standing in the doorway of the apartment he and Peter shared- _had_ shared, ever since the nightmare all those years ago. They had laid low when Claire took her infamous dive from the ferris wheel, and had somehow escaped notice- unlike Claire.

She was always in the spotlight. She was the new face of their kind, the public's golden girl.

If only they could see her now- a drink in hand, even though it wouldn't affect her, acting like a fool.

Acting like a child.

"You're pouting," Peter teased, his eyes sliding to his best friend. "Better watch out, before another woman comes along and thinks she can melt that cold, brooding heart of yours.

He didn't reply, just shot Peter a mild glare, ignoring the searching look that Claire was giving him over Peter's shoulder.

And then, there were those times- times like _these-_ that Claire would watch him.

_She can't possibly know,_ he thought to himself. _She thinks that all those things I said were because of Sylar. She can't know the truth in them. She's just being... **Claire.**_

But sometimes, he wondered.

He pushed himself off the bar stool, standing and stretching. Twin pairs of almond eyes moved to him.

"Cigarette," he said simply. "I'll be back."

"I could use some air," Claire piped up instantly.

Peter frowned, staring at his niece before he, too, got to his feet, leaving a bill on the bar. "Might as well."

They slipped through the crowd, one after another, and Gabriel pretended that he didn't feel a dainty hand fisted into the back of his shirt- probably under the pretense of not losing him in the sea of people, but likely because she didn't want to lose sight of him.

She didn't trust him. It wasn't anything new.

The three crowded under a streetlight, Gabriel pulling out the pack of paper-rolled tobacco sticks and fishing in his pocket for a lighter. It was a habit, now- something he had picked up after the nightmare. For some reason, it seemed to temper the Hunger, drug it into submission. Now, he could hardly remember a time before the smoke had started sticking to his clothes.

Peter reached out for one, and Gabriel handed it over- the younger man wasn't a habitual smoker, like him, but he did indulge on occasion. When Gabriel had asked him about it, he said that the simple act reminded him of Nathan, who had smoked until Peter graduated nursing school and nagged him into quitting. The elder lit Peter's, then his own, the papers flaring yellow before they faded into a dull red glow.

"Can I try?"

Gabriel blinked, glancing at Claire, whose hands were planted on shapely hips, head tilted to the side in expectation. He then looked to Peter, who simply shrugged in what could have been permission, so he gave in.

He held his cigarette between his lips as he handed one to Claire, expecting her to hold it as he went looking for his lighter again. However, when he finally looked up, the girl had placed her own in her mouth, chin lifted in was unmistakably a challenge.

Brown eyes flashed and darkened, and suddenly the nicotine in his system didn't seem so potent anymore.

He reached forward, the flame flickering to life and highlighting the girl's face with a warm light before the dried leaves caught flame. The older man flicked it off, placing it back in his pocket where it belonged, and watched the woman inhale slowly, holding the smoke in her lungs, and exhale slowly, the stick held between two perfectly manicured fingers.

He closed his eyes, turning away from the sight.

He didn't recognize her anymore.

* * *

A week later, and they were back in the bar, shots being poured for them. Claire had wedged herself between Peter and Gabriel, this time, lips stained red and blonde hair hanging loose around her shoulders. Green eyes were framed by black liner, standing out in contrast to the tiny black dress that hugged tight to her curves.

Perhaps it was a good thing that she was between them- it seemed to warn off the other men that couldn't tear their eyes from her.

Claire's shot was poured first- not like _that_ was any surprise, with the way the bartender was eyeing her. Gabriel shot him a glare, and the young man quickly averted his eyes.

Claire didn't wait until the man was done pouring to toss hers back, smiling all the while. Gabriel swallowed when the burn of the alcohol made the girl shudder. She took advantage of that little distraction to place her glass back on the table before her hand darted across to grab _his,_ green eyes clashing with brown as she leaned her head back and swallowed in one fluid motion.

Hunger and _want_ clawed at his gut as he watched the gentle roll of her throat.

He was off his stool and out the door before he realized what had happened.

"Gabriel?"

He heard Peter's confused voice behind him, but he couldn't stop now. He was so close to freedom, so close to getting away from her, and he had to do it. The man had been fighting so hard for so long, and for four years, he had managed to keep the Hunger in check.

And then, of course, Claire had to come right back around the way she always did and throw a dent in his plans for reformation.

_I don't **want** her!_ He thought furiously, finally emerging into the cold New York air, taking it in greedily. The chill sunk into his skin in seconds in a way that was almost painful, and he reveled in it. That pain would keep him level, calculated, _sane._

And if he lost a few fingers to the cold, well, they'd grow back.

Not like his mind, if he managed to lose it.

His arm braced on the same streetlamp of days before, protected from freezing metal only by a thin shield of fabric. It was hardly what he would call sufficient protection from the northeast winter, but he never thought he would be out here for an extended time, anyway.

_I've been fighting for all this time. I'm not going to lose now- not to her,_ Gabriel protested silently, despite the thundering of his heartbeat in his chest.

Maybe it could be different, if _she_ was different. But when she looked at him, she didn't see Gabriel. She still saw-

"Sylar?"

He bared his teeth, spinning to face her, curled slightly in on himself from both the cold and her verbal blow.

"Gabriel," she amended quickly. "Sorry."

"You're not, or you'd stop calling me that," he snarled, averting his eyes from the slender arms that crossed over her ample breasts. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, darkening with what might have been anger or embarrassment- he didn't care enough to distinguish between the two, at that moment. He deflated when he saw her shiver. "Go inside, Claire. It's freezing out here."

"I'm not leaving you out here," she protested sharply.

_If only it was because she cared. If only it **wasn't** because she's afraid to leave me unsupervised in a crowd of people._

"I'm not going back in."

"You'll get frostbite."

"I'll survive." The obvious dare in his statement narrowed her eyes.

"Then, I guess I will, too," the blonde replied, weaving around the sparse people that passed on the street to stand next to him. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye- she was a stubborn little thing, always had been.

He doubted that he could shake her off, but he would have to try.

Even if her shivering was going to be the death of him.

Gabriel was silent, refusing to speak first. He didn't want her company, and he would make it painfully obvious- not that it wasn't, already. But Claire Bennet never knew how to take a hint, and so she waited.

He refused to acknowledge her, even when she stared at him, her mouth open to speak but no words escaping cherry lips. He didn't move when he tilted her head back against the pole, her hair falling back from her face as she looked up at the streetlight above them. In fact, he probably would have ignored her all night- at least, until her shivering increased and her instinct to seek warmth left her nudged against his side.

It wasn't supposed to be that _good,_ just having her near him. It wasn't _fair._ Not when he had been trying so hard, not when she was his tormentor, instead of his savior.

"Stop it, Claire," he muttered finally, edging away from her.

"What is your _problem?_" the young woman exclaimed, arms tightening around herself.

He would _not_ feel bad because her skin was splotchy from the cold and her teeth were chattering. That was _her_ fault, not _his._

"_You,_" he growled. "_You_ are my problem, Claire."

"_Me?_ What did _I_ do?" The wide-eyed look she gave him wasn't hurt at all, he figured. Just surprised. Anything else, he was just seeing as an effect of the cold.

_Yeah._

"You're _here_, for one," Gabriel replied. "When you're _clearly_ not wanted. And you _never_ go away."

"Well _excuse me_ for spending time with Peter!" Claire snapped. "I'm sorry that it just so _happens_ that he's always with you! Not that it makes any sense, since you're an _asshole._"

"You're not here for Peter, Claire, and we both know it!" Brown eyes narrowed and his chest heaved, short of breath from his anger and from the cold air. His lips were starting to go numb. "You're here because _I'm_ here!"

"You _conceited_-" she started, cutting herself off. "That's bullshit!"

_Lies._ "No, it's not, Claire! You know it, _I_ know it- _hell_, even _Peter_ knows it, but he pretends not to notice!" He took a step back from her, because the way she was flushed was not attractive. Not at all. "You're not here for him, you're here for _me._ You don't trust me, so you're here to keep an eye on me, to make sure I don't fuck up, and so that if I do, you can be the first one to run along and tattle to your daddy."

She slapped him. His skin was so cold that he barely felt it.

"You- _you-_" Claire stuttered, face flushed with rage and cold.

"I'm _sick_ of you, Claire!" He shouted. "You hover over my shoulder like a goddamned _noose_, ready for me to make some mistake, _any_ mistake as an excuse to do me in. It's been _four years,_ Claire! _Jesus_ Christ, will you just go home and leave me in peace? Aren't you getting bored yet?"

She stared at him, dumbfounded, but he wasn't done.

"It's hard enough to see your picture in the paper, Claire. Every time I see your face, it's a reminder of something I've done wrong. I can't escape that, will _never_ escape that, because I'm going to have to live with it forever. Don't you get it, Claire? Don't you see who I am?"

"You're _Sylar_," she whispered finally.

Her slap hadn't hurt, but _this_ felt like she had caved his chest in. He saw, in that moment, that he would _never_ be good enough for her, no matter what he did. No matter who he saved, no matter who he helped, to her, he would always be a monster. She would always be there to remember his crimes and to remind him of them.

"No," he choked, voice cracking. "No, I'm not, Claire. I haven't been for a long time, and I'm not going to be again. So if you're looking for a cheap thrill, if you're looking for someone to try to hurt you, find someone else. I'm not that man anymore."

He took one step backwards, and then another, slowly putting distance between them, despite the tearing in his chest with every inch. Green eyes looked at him, horror-filled, just like they had that very first night- back when she was just a cheerleader and he was a guy in a black cap, hell-bent on ripping away _her_ gift that would one day become _his_ curse.

"I-" Claire started, but he couldn't let her finish. He couldn't hear her sure-to-be cutting response, not when he was already so vulnerable.

She had always been his weakness, and she always knew how to use it to her best advantage.

He turned on his heel- _it's just cold, I'm not running, it's **cold,** damn it-_ and left her there, standing alone, flushed figure shivering under the streetlamp.


	2. Part Deux

**Quite a few people asked for this, and I was bored tonight, so I decided to give it a try. A few suggested Claire's POV on the happenings, so I decided to indulge you. XD A little more bitter, but a little more sweet.**

**Now that you guys started this beast, I'm expecting at least one more part to tie it up, but I have no idea when that will be out yet. Have patience, little Heroes. I will try my best to have it out soon.**

**Enjoy this and its completely uncreative title. XD

* * *

**

Despite being unable to feel pain, Claire found the cold to be a very close second.

How she ended up in this situation, she still wasn't sure. All she knew was that, a few weeks ago, a realization had slapped her in the face, and, being her impulsive self, she had acted on it. Not in the way she should have, perhaps, but she had tried. That counted for something, right?

It wasn't her fault.

Really, it wasn't.

She'd woken up a few weeks ago in a cold sweat, shuddering and gasping in a way that was wholly unpleasant. See, she knew that she was going to live forever, hypothetically. However, she hadn't really thought about what that entailed before that night.

You know, like living. When everyone else was dead.

The thought was, in a word, horrifying. And a huge fucking wake-up call.

Everybody knew who she was. She was Claire Bennet, that crazy bitch who launched herself from a ferris wheel and popped her bones back into place without so much as a grimace. She was the figurehead of a new world, one that supported the so-called _Specials_ and fought for their rights. She was the golden girl, the girl everyone wanted to be close to.

And she had everything. She had the Petrelli benefits without the name- the looks, the clothes, the flawless managing of the media, all at her feet. She could have any man she wanted, she could have any_thing_ she wanted, and that was that.

It had never occurred to her that, someday, all those things might go away because, well, no one would be left to remember them.

Claire had it all- _now._ But what about in fifty years, when her friends were gone and she still looked like a kid? In a hundred years, where no one would be alive to remember her little stunt? In a thousand, when no one might be around at all?

Yeah. It was a slap in the face.

_What the hell do I do?_ She'd thought in a blind panic- two in the morning, not knowing who to call, who she could even start to talk about this with. _How am I going to survive this? Even if I off myself, all it takes is someone coming around in ten thousand years and pulling a shank out of my skull, and I'll be like a Watch-It-Grow Barbie._

It wasn't a pleasant thought.

_Who else can understand? Who can I turn to?_

And then she remembered that, once upon a time, some son of a bitch had hunted her like a rat, tore open her head and conveniently _borrowed_ her favorite little safety net.

_Sylar._

At first, the idea revolted her. _Sylar._ Just... _no._ But, after another few empty days of flashing cameras and lonely nights filled with her silent tears, _Sylar_ was looking more and more like an option.

After all, he _had_ offered, all those years ago.

And she was Claire Bennet. She could have anyone she wanted.

Hypothetically, she kind of knew that Sylar had somehow and inexplicably become Peter's roommate and best friend. However, she had ignored that fact in favor of living in blissful ignorance that maybe he had just fallen off the face of the earth. Now, she was wishing that she'd gone over to Peter's apartment a little more, if only to make it seem less suspicious that she was showing up there now.

Sylar had opened the door, and Claire pushed past him, despite his wide-eyed look of surprise. And that, as they say, was that.

Of course, with Sylar, there were always some dents that ended up in her plans, even though _god knew_ that Claire tried to play nice. But, seriously? _Gabriel?_ She couldn't imagine calling him anything but Sylar, especially since there once was a time that he would have bitten her head off- and probably literally, at that- if she'd tried to call him anything else. So, really, it wasn't her fault that she slipped up every so often.

But, other than that, she thought she did pretty well. Of course, the companionship wasn't easy and effortless, like it was for Peter. But... Peter was Peter. He was just so... Peter-like. Like a brother, or a cousin. Like Lyle, except more... touchy. But it had always been like that for them.

But for Sylar... _Gabriel_... Claire tried. She tagged along with him and Peter, tried to be friendly as best she could, under the circumstances. She somehow maintained a smile, even while he effortlessly rejected countless of women that propositioned him, older and more beautiful than Claire could ever hope to be.

Not for the first time, she wondered, _Why did I ever think that I could be enough for him?_

Then, she would mentally slap herself, because it was _supposed_ to be the other way around.

So tried harder. Lipstick, eyeliner, cute little dresses and sweet-smelling perfumes. Instead of letting Peter have the middle seat, she would sit there before he could, passing it off on teasing her uncle. She would flirt, just a little, but he always seemed to brush her off, and then she would watch him, just trying to figure him out a little, and he would pretend he didn't notice.

Claire had never been so frustrated over a boy before. Maybe it was because he wasn't another silly boy- he was a man, he was mature, and he could have better than the public's chew toy.

She stomped on that thought in her glittery kitten heels.

And then there was the thought that she mentally referred to as the Cigarette Incident.

Claire had never smoked before. She never saw the need- if alcohol didn't affect her, then drugs probably wouldn't, either, right? That's what she had thought, anyway. But then, Sy-_Gabriel_ had left on one of his cigarette breaks, and for once, Claire decided to follow.

She thought she did well, at first. She gave him the _I'm cute, so you should give me what I want_ look- the one that had been known to have lesser men fall to their knees for her- and he gave in. She tried her best to be mature in that moment, but she wasn't exactly sure what to expect. As a cheerleader, she'd seen her fair share of drugs and alcohol, though she had never really participated, herself. However, there was one thing she _had_ seen, a trick that Jackie herself had used on Brody- _the bitch- _and seemed to be effective. So she tried it.

Upon turning back to see the cigarette between her lips, Gabriel paused. He might not have even been aware of the quite visible swallow the rolled his throat, one that Claire didn't find attractive at all, _no way_, _that's Syl- that's Gabriel, stop denying yourself._

But when her cigarette was lit, Claire breathed carefully as she had once been told- not too deep, not too quick, hold it in your lungs until it burns, then let it out. It wasn't a _bad_ sensation, she figured. In fact, it left her kind of fuzzy and tingly.

But he had turned away, yet again, and Gabriel refused to look at her for the rest of the night.

So she decided that, yet again, she was going to have to step it up. Because, damn it, if he was going to turn her down, he was going to have to say it to her face.

Another night, the same bar, and they were doing shots. The bartender had been eyeing her all night, which only told Claire that her charms _were_ working- just not on the man she wanted them to. It was getting _beyond_ frustrating- she had her hair down, her cutest black dress, and _damn it_, she knew she looked good.

_Why isn't he looking at me?_

The next round of shots came around, and Claire had downed hers before the other two were poured. Bad form, maybe, but she was getting aggravated, and the faint burn of the alcohol in her throat was exactly what she needed.

And then an Idea struck her. Capitalized.

Gabriel's shot was barely poured when her hand darted out, snatching it away, desperately attempting to beat down the thoughts of _oh god, I'm stealing his shot, his mouth was on this, this is ten thousand kinds of wrong, he's going to kill me, but- dear **god,** why does this taste so much better when it's not mine?_

Because it did. And there was definitely something wrong with that.

"Gabriel?"

Claire blinked and set down the glass, and then realized that the fucker was _gone, where the hell did he go? Shit, I really did it, this time._

"What the hell?" Peter muttered sullenly.

"Don't worry, I'll find him," Claire sighed.

Peter leveled her with a steady stare, inspecting her before he gave in with a nod and a sigh. Claire slid from her bench, leaving her jacket behind, because, really, how far could he have gone? And surely he wouldn't be stupid enough to go outside when it was a grand total of ten degrees out.

Well, she was wrong.

Because there he was, under that _stupid_ street lamp, looking freezing as hell, and Claire realized, _goddamnit, I'm gonna have to go out there._

And she did.

"Sylar?"

In that moment, he really _did_ look like Sylar- something she only just realized that had changed. Until this moment, she hadn't realized that his typical feral, half-crazy look was gone. Now, of course, it was back and enhanced by the cold.

She was an idiot.

"Gabriel, sorry," the corrected herself apologetically, wrapping her arms around herself as a half-assed shield from the freezing air.

"You're not, or you'd stop calling me that," he hissed.

Claire shivered, unsure if the action was from his chilling tone or the winter weather.

"Go inside, Claire," Gabriel sighed, defeated. "It's freezing out here."

She wasn't about to leave him, though, even when he started turning up a whole new level of _asshole_ and then went into his once-typical tempter tantrum mode, minus the skull-slicing. Instead, she stood right next to him, determined to wait him out, even if it took all night and a few lost toes.

Well, she thought so, anyway. At least, until she noticed just how very _warm_ he was, and just how _freezing_ she was. After that, she didn't have much of a choice in the matter- instinct had her nudging closer until she was pressed up against his side, greedily taking in his heat and his _scent,_ and how the _hell_ was this so _amazing_ when nothing was even _happening?_

"Stop it, Claire," he huffed, pulling away from her, and Claire finally snapped.

"What is your _problem?_" She exclaimed angrily.

"You. _You_ are my problem, Claire."

Her eyes widened, stricken and pained. When had he become so important to her, had his _happiness_ become important to her? It wasn't fair. "_Me_? What did _I_ do?"

"You're _here,_ for one," Gabriel snarled. "When you're _clearly_ not wanted. And you _never_ go away."

Well, shit. She wanted him to say it to her face, but... this was just plain _hurtful. _So Claire did what she _always_ did when she was hurt- she went on the attack.

"Well, _excuse me_ for spending time with Peter! I'm sorry that it just so _happens_ that he's always with you! Not that it makes any sense, since you're an _asshole._"

"You're not here for Peter, Claire, and we both know it!" the man snapped, his lip curling with rage and- _hurt?_ "You're here because _I'm_ here!"

_Am I really that obvious? I mean, I know I was flirting, but..._ "You _conceited-_" she stuttered defensively. "That's bullshit!"

"No, it's not, Claire! You know it, _I_ know it- _hell_, even _Peter_ knows it, but he pretends not to notice!" The man's arms tightened around himself, and Claire felt a spasm of mortified panic in her chest. _Peter knows?_ She blushed at the thought, considering all those weighted looks in an entirely new manner.

But Gabriel wasn't done yet. "You're not here for him, you're here for _me._ You don't trust me, so you're here to keep an eye on me, to make sure I don't fuck up, and so that if I do, you can be the first one to run along and tattle to your daddy."

_...what the fuck? How the **hell** can he think that?_

She slapped him. She couldn't even help it, the accusation hurt so much. _Is that really what he thinks of me? That I'm just some conniving little bitch that wants to ruin him? God, I'm so stupid for ever thinking that this could work. _

"You- _you-_" But she didn't have to words to even express what she was feeling. There was only a hollow, aching emptiness. _That's it. I'm going to be alone forever._

It appeared that he was done, too. His face flushed with anger, and before Claire knew it, he was yelling. "I'm _sick_ of you, Claire! You hover over my shoulder like a goddamned _noose_, ready for me to make some mistake, _any_ mistake as an excuse to do me in. It's been _four years,_ Claire! _Jesus_ Christ, will you just go home and leave me in peace? Aren't you getting bored yet?"

She had never felt so small before in her life.

"It's hard enough to see your picture in the paper, Claire. Every time I see your face, it's a reminder of something I've done wrong. I can't escape that, will _never_ escape that, because I'm going to have to live with it forever. Don't you get it, Claire? Don't you see who I am?"

In this light, she could only see one person- the _only_ person who had ever succeeded in making her realize just how terrible she truly was.

"You're _Sylar,_" she whispered, heartbroken.

He crumbled, features twisting in pain that echoed exactly what Claire was feeling. "No," Gabriel murmured, backing slowly away from her in a gesture that hurt more than it should have been capable. He was actually _fleeing_ from her, like an abused animal. "No, I'm not, Claire. I haven't been for a long time, and I'm not going to be again. So if you're looking for a cheap thrill, if you're looking for someone to try to hurt you, find someone else. I'm not that man anymore."

And even though her heart was broken, even though she knew that was was hurting as much as she was, she had to try, one last time. "I-" _don't hate you, I don't want you to hurt me, you've never been a cheap thrill to me and I love you. Please, don't you understand?_

He cut her off with a sharp turn, and Gabriel ran.

Tears flooded Claire's eyes, breath catching in her throat in a bitter sob.

She pushed past the bouncer at the door, fighting her way through the crowd and back to the bar, where her uncle was frowning and nursing a dark brew from the tap. Upon seeing her, he set his glass down and turned in place, frown deepening in a way that made him resemble his brother so strongly that it dissolved Claire into a whole new wave of tears.

"Claire?" He asked, reaching out and pulling her into a hug. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"Peter," the blonde sobbed into his shoulder, mascara surely running, but she couldn't bring herself to care. "Peter, I need your help."


End file.
